Dallas Doesn't Like Birthdays
by DHF of Walden
Summary: Why should he? Something bad always happens on his birthday. And when he gets knocked out on his 18th, he lives through these moments all over again... T for a small bit of language. Hey, it's Dally, guys.


I kicked a rock across the street that I was walking down and watched the chunk of stone scuttle over the cracked pavement before hitting the side of a building. The irony nearly made me laugh. That could easily be me, the cold, hard stone, hopping over the unstable, rough surface that is my life. Eventually, it seemed inevitable that I would be stopped, there would be a wall I just couldn't break through, and I would just ---stop.

I mentally gave myself a smack around the side of the head. _What?_ I never thought about things like that. I'm not really given much of a chance to think about anything; it all just happens, and I play along as best I can. It's not often I'm completely alone like this. There's always some old hood to talk to, someone to piss off or pick a fight with, some broad to pick up. And when I _am_ alone, it's usually because I'm running away, going so fast I couldn't think if I tried.

I wonder now, who would I even _be_, if I was a thinker. I wouldn't be _me_, that's for sure. But--- maybe, who I am right now--- isn't me anyway. Life just kind of happened- at a very early age, mind you- and chose my line of acting and being for me. I guess _I_ never really got a chance. But--- if I don't even know who that is, doesn't that make it.... _not_ me, then? Huh?

I gave myself another internal slap. Because not only was I possibly being metaphoric and _deep_, I was just confusing myself.

Come to think of it, maybe that's why Pony's so screwed up. He thinks too much, confuses himself, wears himself down... plus those slaps probably ain't too good on the brain, either.

Speaking of slaps, I gave myself another one, and real this time. Damn! That hurt.

I seriously needed to find something to do, and fast, before I drove myself insane. I looked around but didn't see anybody... man, what I would give to beat up a Soc. Huh- you'd think that they would at least have the decency to pay me a little birthday visit...

....At least then I wouldn't be thinking all profound-like, making sad comparisons of inanimate objects and life. Yeah, I wanted to beat up something right about now.

Birthday- so I was 18 now, huh. Maybe by some weird (not to mention nonexistent) stretch of luck it would actually be a good one. I knew, though, that it wouldn't stay like it was now for long- it would definitely be eventful. Every year, it seemed if there was only one big thing that happened all year, it _had_ to be on November 9th. With the exception of last year, when everything happened about a month and a bit earlier than usual.

I started walking a bit faster--- to escape the bad memories that were starting to re-form in my head. Like a scrawny kid running away from the bullies in the schoolyard, I always found myself just barely escaping the things that bothered me. Knowing, that someday, they would all gang up and catch me, then beat the living tar outta me until it was dying tar. Ah, damn, there I go again...

I heard the sounds of an old motor, and tires peeling over rickety ashphalt. I turned around and was elated to see Two-Bit's ol' piece o' junk heading down the street. _Yes!_, I thought, because there's no such thing as a dull day with Two-Bit.

I started walking towards the vehicle, raising my hand above my head to let Two-Bit know to stop. He didn't though, and when I got close enough to yell at him, he was stomping frantically at the floor, looking down at his foot with a panicked expression. I should have gotten out of the way, I really don't know why I didn't. I just stood there, staring at him, wondering what the hell was he doing....

I felt a huge weight slam right across my waist, my feet stumbled and I slipped on my heels. I fell to the ground, my bottom half now under the car, which was still moving. I scrambled to get up, but I was only onto my elbows when the bumper smacked my forehead and I blacked out.

I woke up in a strange place. It did seem vaguely familiar though... I just couldn't quite place it. That is, until I heard a knock on the door. That knock was _very_ familiar.

For three years, that knock had been the sound of freedom, the knock that meant I could get outta this hellhole and into the real world...

I got the shock of my life as I saw a whitish-blue blur fly past me and wrench the door open. As I slowly got up off the floor, I realized the blur had been... _me._ At ten years old.

"Dad, Tom's here!!!" Mini-me yelled, and, getting no response, went outside and slammed the door.

Oh no. I remembered this day, and I remembered it well...

I opened the door and walked out, the two boys not even noticing as the the door shut a second time behind them. Was I... a ghost?

I followed the two little guys, who were now walking along the run-down street full of shabby-looking houses, hands stuffed in their pockets. I certainly remembered Tom; he had been my buddy, and our groups had often hung out together. He was twelve. We were like Tim Shepard and I were now. Ha... Tim and Tom... oh, shut up!

Tom, then, had extremely shaggy long hair, that was either black or dark brown, depending on the last time he had washed it. His bangs reached down to the tip of his nose. I had always wondered how Tom saw past the mass of thick hair; he never brushed it out of his eyes or greased it back. Neither did I, but my hair was so thin and light-coloured I could practically see right through it.

"Hey, Tom," the ten-year old me said.

"Hey Birthday boy," Tom answered, just as I knew he would.

"Ten, huh. Double digits."

"Oh yeah, man. Hey, you're a _man_ now, you can start saying that, an' I can say it to you, man,"

"Sure, man," I tried it out, and it sounded good. I liked it.

"And... bein' a _man_ opens up a _whole_ new world of possibility..." Tom drawled.

"Oh, really, man?" I grinned.

"Ohhhh yeah," he grinned right back, sticking his tongue through the space where his molar and eye tooth had been before he got them knocked out in a fight. Tom always did this when he was either really excited or about to do something dangerous. Or, in this case, both.

I personally thought it made him look a bit like one of those deranged psychopaths that goes around licking their teeth all the time, but hey, to each their own.

'Wanna go celebrate your... graduation?"


End file.
